"Are you certain that it's there?"
The mist piled up close to the ground like a troubling gas, drawing frosted arabesques. It was cold, sufficiently so for the horse's eyes to disappear behind the vapor coming out of its nose. The animal, a little too stocky to be a racehorse, was nervous, like the coachman. His carriage, simple but in a good state, bent slightly when the traveler passed through the frame of the door. Loose clothing concealed his impressive physique, but his unreal blue eyes prevented him from really going unnoticed. An impressive shovel on his shoulder, rope and nails on his belt, he displayed a closed appearance, determined to not betray a legitimate concern. The coachman was rather terrified by the atmosphere that reigned over the edge of the woods on this humid winter night. The gibbous moon wept a ray on the traveler's hand, revealing the countless tattoos making the traveler's thick skin look like parchment. The coachman wasn't much of a believer, but he would have sworn that behind those inky eyes was perfect calligraphy written in Latin. But who was this mysterious client? A bygone prisoner? A strange ecclesiastic? The shiver that ran through the poor man wasn't only because of the cold.
"Thank you, brother. Here, take this."
The colossus grabbed a purse hidden under the folds of his cloak, which he handed to the coachman. With an unusual mass, it seemed almost outside of time, too new to be outdated but much too old-fashioned for the time. With a trembling gesture, the unfortunate conductor undid the tie. It was full of sparkling papal lira, a veritable fortune right from the Vatican's coffers. Before he even had the time to lift his head, the traveler disappeared.
Sariel moved with ease in this body. He had borrowed the body of young Paul, with a heart of gold but limited intellect. Simple folk were perfect hosts for the angels, their will easily fading away before the spiritual entity. The soldier of the world hoped to not damage the young man's body, but in the worst case he knew with resignation that few people would miss the gravedigger who could not read his own name. Hidden under loose fabric, Paul's body no longer felt the cold, but it was important for Sariel to hide the incarnation marks, more visible than usual. What a pity; this body would not be discreet, but it would be powerful, and he definitely needed power to accomplish his mission.
Through his angelic eyes, demonic traces shone like scarlet blood on an immaculate sheet. Tiny dots, swarming around trees or crawling in the mist like the insects claimed by the regiment had undoubtedly begotten the abomination that Sariel was hunting, leaving no doubt of the unholy presence in this forest. And the flies of pure sin all converged towards a point that didn't leave the angel unmoved: in the heart of the clearing to the east, the Calvary of the Penitents seemed to attract the invisible monsters. Sariel quickened his pace, his supernatural strength turning Paul's body into a vaguely blurry owing form with gracious movements between brambles and roots.
Perhaps one of the strangest phenomena for creatures like an angel during an embodiment was asking questions. The angels hadn't been prepared, except for Samael, for all the consequences that this would cause. However, in the body of a human, the celestial creatures could feel anger, fear, worry, anguish, and doubt. And speaking of doubt, one of them was taking up more and more space in the parasitized cranium: what was a fly knight doing here, so far from urban centers and places with carrion? This type of demon, guard of the Infernal Prince Beelzebub, was drawn to and strengthened by the worst of humanity, nourished by filth and apostasy. This could only say, according to Sariel, one thing: something dreadful happened in this forest, and the images of a mass grave or another gruesome and unholy sight imposed themself in Paul's brain, which Sariel could not ignore. His tattoos shone once again under the moonlight, a silent witness to the horrors of the night. With a sign of the cross to give himself courage, the angel incarnate rushed into the depths of the woods with a shovel on his shoulder and steel nails in his pocket.
The calm in the clearing was terrifying. Through the azure eyes of Sariel, traces of demonic incursion covered each tree, each stone, each blade of grass covered by the fog. He could feel the larvae made of faith swarm under his feet, the air thick with midges, an odor of death mixing together with that of the humus of the freshly turned earth. For an angel, it was a theater of horror, but for a man, the clearing was perfectly silent and calm. Nothing on the horizon, Sariel had to focus Paul's eyes in order to not be blinded by the demonic overload. There was absolutely nothing in this clearing. The Cavalry was still in place, no pit on the horizon, no trace of invocation or of a ritual, nothing. The silence was perfect.
Almost perfect.
On the other side of the clearing, a murmur cooked from out of the door of a poorly kept shed. Focusing on parting the hordes of devilish sensations harassing his angelic senses, Sariel attempted to analyze what was emanating from it. The stream of invisible flies and sulfuric fragrances undoubtedly came from the door. The angel closed his eyes for a moment. He remembered the sound; the demon was there, between the planks of wood. Resuming his supernatural nature, he rejected the "why" that was in the back of Paul's mind and headed for the shed. He didn't glance over at the Calvary, which cast a shadow that was a little too clear. His feet barely touched the icy earth as he moved towards his eschatological enemy. Paul's shovel held like an angelic blade waiting only for his incarnation, like its bearer. He felt the divine frenzy take hold of him as he knocked the wooden door down with a blow from his shovel, deaf to the muffled murmurs in the shed.
Before him, a knight of the flies, bound in gold, silver, and iron, struggled in a stone chair. His mouth was gagged; an expression of horror was in his faceted eyes. The terror could be seen in the erratic movements in the millions of midges that make up his cohort, but this terror wasn't directed at Sariel. Paralyzed by incomprehension, the angel lowered his eyes to see what the devil was looking at.
The shed was full to the breaking point of alchemical and sacred explosives, mercury mines from floor to ceiling launching crucifixion nails at the slightest movement. And Sariel broke the detonator by pushing the door.
The explosion was enough that the demon disintegrated on the spot, his screams of pain muffled by the gag. Sariel had just enough time to embody a ring of his true form around himself as hundreds of knights planted themselves in his tattooed biceps crossed in front of Paul's face. He flew several meters before crashing into the freshly turned hummus, in bad shape but not dead. The resilience of angels was tremendous, but the surprise from such an attack left him little time to properly protect himself. Golden blood started to flow. Struggling to get back up, Sariel heard the howl of a pig. A howl of pleasure, that of a predator. He started to run.
Two forms stood out at the edge of the clearing. With misty eyes and still deaf ears, Sariel didn't immediately understand what he was going back to, running at full speed towards them. Two imposing figures, like motionless centaurs. For another time this winter night, a ray of moonlight made its way to Earth, shining a light on a hunting shotgun barrel. Paul's reflexes saved Sariel, who wasn't used to this kind of equipment. Crashing into the humus, the angel almost turned onto all fours before the two hunters, mounted on horses as black as the night. He had just enough time to hear the hoarse voice of one of the two behind him as his right foot almost gave way under his feet.
"Run."
The powder drew an inverted crucifix in the air as the buckshot reached Sariel's back. In the emergency, the angel could only deploy two pairs of wings, and only one of them was still functional after the lead salvo. A golden light started to surround the angel's injuries under the whisper of a psalm, then abruptly stopped. Something in the powder or the steel blocked the creature's miracles. A fear he had never felt before filled his heart. Panicked, he flew away with difficulty, attempting to reach the forest as quickly as possible, far from the sight of his canons of misfortune. The myriads of eyes started to tear through Paul's skin as all of Sariel's angelic energy was used to bring back his original form.
There are some hunters who employ bloodhounds for tracking their prey. Some like terriers, others general hunting dogs. But for a versatile hunter like Victor Valgris, a diversified kennel was necessary.
There are, normally, no angels in nature, rendering the dogs of Tindalos ill-adapted for a forest hunt. But nothing makes a more beautiful right angle than the crucifixation of a Calvary.
The abomination coming from the far reaches of the Threshold emerged from the void behind the corner of the cross, almost nine meters tall, stretching his hellish maw towards the blood angel. Screaming in despair, Sariel's last sight was of the golden insignia on the monster's harness; two V's sitting atop a drop of blood.
The two men in suits, hunting caps, and midnight blue striped ties stood above the partially-transformed creature, enjoying a shot of golden blood. Between an enhanced human and a monster studded with eyes and gold, the angel resembled an abomination from the depths, with a swan's wings on top.
"Well done, Victor," Nathaniel congratulated as his snout went back to looking like a human nose. "I am rather proud of the purity of my demon powder, but it is true that you're still the best shot."
"A pleasure, cousin. I, however, like to be less pressed by Thirst, especially when it's not mine. You almost lost your humanity tonight; imagine if the angel had been less stupid."
"Well, Victor. Are you gonna be a vegetarian now? At least admit that it's exciting."
The Swiss conceded with a pout before mounting the angel's corpse on the back of his horse.
If the angels of one are demons of another, the Hunters are the monsters of all.
